Holding Back the Waters
by CatalynMJ88
Summary: When Sydney is abducted three weeks before her due date, Rachel accompanies Jack to Spain and locates Sydney by hacking DeSantis' laptop. But the rescue at sea is only the beginning, as Rachel's APO mentor comes to rely on her more than Rachel ever imagined she would.
1. The Ora-Scuba

A/N (6/25): I am so sorry I briefly took down this story, especially since someone had already left a nice review. I had a moment's paranoia, then realized I shouldn't let issues with other site users stop me or my readers from having any fun. Plus it's better to have the story up early, for evidence that I wrote and posted it when I did.

A/N (6/15): Hopefully, this story will later be the middle of a longer story, reworking much of Alias season 5. I've genderbent Thomas Grace- I'll explain why later. *evil grin* Her personality and relationship with Rachel are much the same as in canon. I've headcasted her as Laura Prepon.

01\. The Ora-Scuba

Rachel stopped by the APO gym in the morning. Grace wasn't there. Instead there was Marshall, kneeling in the middle of the floor with his head submerged in a tub of water. He was still, and Rachel saw no bubbles at the water's surface.

"Oh my God. Marshall!"

She yanked him up by the shoulders. Marshall was conscious, but he didn't cough or gasp for breath. He pulled out a pair of nose plugs, and calmly spat a small plastic tube into his hand. It looked like a short, thick glow stick, curved to fit inside Marshall's mouth.

Marshall pushed back his sopping hair and rubbed his eyes. "Oh hey! Rachel!" He smiled. "Hope I didn't scare ya, what with the facedown-in-water, not-breathing thing…"

Marshall blinked and squinted as water fell into his eyes, and groped for his towel. (It was beside the tub, along with a stopwatch running through the ninth minute.) His hand was two inches from the towel's edge when he gave up and shook the water from his hair like a dog. Rachel got spritzed. She dabbed droplets from her silk blouse and smiled weakly at Marshall.

"Well actually, I _was_ breathing- just- with my nose and mouth shut," he said. "Check this out."

Marshall held out his palm with the tube in it. The contents were clearish-blue. Rachel noticed one end had a tiny, but sophisticated, pressure-reduction nozzle on it. She leaned in closer; she could barely hear a faint hiss of gas escaping through the nozzle.

"Twenty minutes of hyper-compressed air, from the comfort of your own mouth," Marshall boasted. "It's activated by biting it- very gently, of course, or else, in theory, it… could… explode. Anyway, you, uh, just slip it in your mouth- say, between water torture sessions, or while fleeing a noxious gas explosion- bite _very_ gently and voila! Death by suffocation? Not today! …I, um, call it the Ora-Scuba," he grinned.

"It's genius," said Rachel. And she meant it. Even though she'd be going to this morning's briefing looking like she'd been caught in a drizzle.

"Thanks. It's still in the beta stage. Carrie would kill me if she knew I was testing it out. So I tried to come here before anyone else would. I, uh, didn't know you worked out this early…?"

Marshall looked Rachel over, noting her office attire and lack of gym bag. The poor man grimaced bracingly, as if he knew he'd put his foot in his mouth but didn't know why. She couldn't leave him hanging like that.

"I'm not here to work out. I was just looking for someone," she explained.

"Really? Who?"

"Hey you guys."

Grace stood in the gym entrance with her forearms planted against the doorway, hanging lazily from her shoulders. This pose caused her form-fitting turtleneck to slide up. Rachel glimpsed Grace's midriff, then blushed and looked at the floor.

"There's been some kind of computer breach, so Jack pushed up our briefing. You coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah of course." Rachel found herself nodding a little too enthusiastically as she pulled herself up off the floor. Marshall made the _wait a minute_ sign and toweled himself off. Grace looked at him, then the tub of water, then the stopwatch.

 _What the…?_ she mouthed to Rachel. The young blonde just stifled a giggle.


	2. The Breach

02\. The Breach

Most of APO was giving Sydney Bristow a wide berth these days, and not just because she waddled when she walked. On missions, she used her pregnancy to the benefit of her aliases; at home, she was preparing as well as one could expect of a new widow. But at the office, she pretended she wasn't pregnant at all.

The bigger she got, the more absurd it seemed to carry on as usual. (She recently sat out a mission to a North African terrorist cell, _but only reluctantly_.)Still, everyone continued to play along. No cards, no flowers, no baby shower. No comments about how beautiful she looked or inquiries of whether she needed a little rest or some water or a snack.

The only person that Sydney let so much as hold open a door for her was Jack. But then, if there was anyone she could rely on to help her without descending into cooing or patting her belly, it was her father. He was the only one in deeper denial about her baby bump than she was.

Rachel was reading in her guest room at Sydney's place when Jack came over and helped assemble the crib. Through the walls she heard _The Very Best of Elton John_ and some lighthearted chatter. She found herself thinking Jack actually had a soft side. So she popped out into the living room at the end of the evening to say goodbye. Jack stared at her, stated that he hadn't known she was there, and ordered her to "tell no one about this evening's events."

It was the kind of behavior that had Rachel terrified of Jack when she first arrived at APO. Months later, she was able to laugh with Sydney about it after he left.

As they entered the briefing room, Jack wordlessly pulled out a rolling chair for Sydney and held it steady as she slowly eased herself down into it. Then he paced the room while the rest of the team assembled. He pulled up some grainy surveillance footage on the monitors.

Rachel recognized the woman in the footage. She'd recognize her anywhere, in shadows or low-res. With no image at all, even. She'd recognize the faintest whiff of her perfume, a whisper of her voice…

"Four hours ago, an agency facility storing closed matters was breached," Jack announced. "Security cameras identify the perpetrator as an operative of Prophet Five."

"Kelly Peyton," said Rachel.

She tried to use the voice that Grace used when she talked about the bad guys. The cold, unattached disdain. Her APO co-workers knew that Rachel and Kelly had worked together. Anyone who listened in on Rachel's comms on the Janos Vak mission knew that they were once friends. But that was all they knew. Even Sydney- her housemate, her mentor, in whom she had confided so much more than the others- even she didn't know the whole truth about Rachel and Kelly Peyton.

Rachel tuned back in just as Sydney pointedly asked Jack, "They were Vaughn's files, weren't they?"

"Yes, that's right," Jack nodded. Father and daughter shared a meaningful look. The rest of the room held their breath- the way they always did at the mention of Michael Vaughn.

Rachel flushed with envy. It's not that she wanted the world to turn on the mention of Kelly's name. …Not since Kelly turned out to be evil, anyway. But she wondered what it must be like, to have the world acknowledge your love.

She imagined some day in the future- after she returned to the private sector, met someone new, settled down to work for some liberal young tech startup in San Francisco or Seattle. She imagined sitting at an office meeting like this one and casually mentioning her girlfriend, or her wife…

The thought brought a shudder of pleasure- and courage. _Gotta go, guys,_ she imagined telling her employees as she snapped a cell phone shut. (She now pictured herself running her own startup.) _That was my wife. We're having a baby._

Rachel never used to daydream about having a family of her own. Not before living with Sydney, seeing the beauty and strength she showed while facing motherhood alone… She never daydreamed during briefings, either. Maybe she hadn't had enough coffee yet this morning. Maybe it was the way Grace studied her across the table, making Rachel wonder yet again if they should talk about that Brazil mission last month…

"I've tasked Marshall and Grace with disabling all of Vaughn's official protocols," said Jack.

Rachel's internal filter pulled back her attention at the keywords _Marshall_ and _Grace._ The names of her best geek-pal at APO, and her… whatever Grace was to her.

Jack turned to Dixon. "I'd like you to locate any of Vaughn's old contacts to issue a warning. Sloane will oversee Rachel in analyzing the remainder of the intel."

 _This is really thorough, even for Jack,_ Rachel realized. She detected a certain urgency between Jack and Sydney. Why? Just how much harm could Prophet Five do with the files of a man dead for seven months?

 _Unless…_

No. It was impossible. Rachel pushed the thought aside.


	3. Out of the Office

03\. Out of the Office

Twenty minutes after the briefing was adjourned, just as Rachel was starting to sink her teeth into a long day's work, Grace walked in. She perched on the corner of Rachel's desk, nodded through the windows and muttered, "Do you believe that?"

APO's office was an overbright maze of track lighting, gleaming floors, and walls-of-windows. Jack's office and the briefing room could be turned opaque at the flick of a switch, but in general, every desk was visible from every other desk. Rachel followed Grace's gaze towards Sydney's office. The mom-to-be was packing some Tylenol, snacks, and a dossier in a carry-on bag.

Despite wanting to "keep her close by," Jack had dispatched Sydney to meet with Renee Rienne. Rienne was Michael Vaughn's longtime co-investigator into Prophet Five: she was also a wanted terrorist. But Sydney had worked with her before and earned her trust. She was flying out to meet with Renee in person and discuss whether any details in Vaughn's files would be of use to Prophet Five.

Ostensibly the conversation was too sensitive to take place over even the securest of phone lines. The potential intel was somehow important enough for a woman just a few weeks (if not days) from giving birth to travel by jet. Alone. Rachel hoped Sydney was headed somewhere civilized and comfortable, at least. She wasn't privy to the actual location. Due to Renee's fugitive status, Jack would monitor Sydney's movements independently unless an emergency required the team's help.

Grace seemed nonplussed as well. "I just asked Jack and Sydney if I could go instead," she told Rachel. "I mean, I've worked with Renee too…"

"And how did that go?" Rachel teased. As if she couldn't already tell by the way Grace trailed off and sighed into her coffee.

"I think Jack was gonna go for it, actually. But then Syd was all 'Renee has _met_ you, Agent Thomas, but she doesn't _trust_ you.' …What?" Grace demanded. Rachel had started giggling.

"Nothing. It's just- I never realized how harpy she can be sometimes, til you mimicked it."

"I didn't realize it til we had Mitchell. Carrie gets that exact same voice, you know, when he misbehaves. It's like evolutionary programming or something. Kinda freaky," Marshall chuckled. He shifted from foot to foot in Rachel's office doorway. His anecdote was met with silence, and he started to squirm. "Oh. Sorry. I thought it was just… y'know, water cooler gossip time. Except with coffee, instead of water…"

"You're fine, Marshall," Rachel said gently, just as Grace clipped, "Did you need something?"

"It's just, uh, a pretty good chunk of Monsieur Vaughn's protocols are in French. So Agent Thomas, when you get a minute could you, um, parlez-vous…?"

"Yeah sure, got it." As Grace hopped up and followed Marshall out, Rachel found herself imagining that silky alto voice of hers speaking French.

(scene)

Sydney's wheels went up at eleven. At twelve-thirty, Marshall, Rachel and Grace headed out for lunch together. Marshall wanted them to try this new Greek place near 23rd Street Station, so they took the Metro.

For the entire ride, Grace held the end of her glasses to her lips with one hand and flipped a pack of Marlboro Lights in the other. Rachel had to pull her away from the top of the Metro stairs, because she had stopped to light up as soon as possible. The Greek restaurant was half a block away. Grace was only on her second drag when they arrived. She glared down the "NO SMOKING" sign in the front window.

"Are you kidding me? I mean, it's not like the Greeks smoke fucking everywhere…"

"City ordinance," Marshall shrugged. "We've crossed into L.A. proper. But they still let you smoke more than twenty feet from the door, so-"

"Marshall, I know the rules," Grace snapped. "You guys go on without me. I'll be in in ten minutes."

"What should I order for you?" Rachel asked.

"Surprise me."

The restaurant was packed with raucous university students and Blackberry-donning professionals from the nearby Fashion District. A waitress appeared with water and a bread basket. She breathlessly explained that it might be awhile. Marshall and Rachel waved away her concern. They were in no hurry.

Working at APO required early mornings, late evenings, and long weekends- and that was _between_ jetting off on missions. As if to compensate, the lunch break culture within their office was so relaxed, it was practically Mediterranean. Lately Syd had been going home at midday to nap for an hour or two before returning to work. And everyone seemed to go out to eat. (Except maybe Jack. Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever seen him eat.) It made sense. They all had very decent salaries to support their restaurant habits, and little time to cook for themselves.

"So how's Sydney doing?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"Well, you know, you live with her. I remember right before Mitchell was born," said Marshall. "Carrie would send me out at, like, 2 AM for Korean tacos or whatever, have me massage her feet, paint her toenails, lift stuff for her. Actually that last one was more my idea. She'd be like, 'Honey, I've got it, that bag's full of cereal boxes and paper towels' and I was all, 'better safe than sorry'. You know, the protective dad-to-be thing…"

Rachel's stomach felt tight, a familiar sensation of a visceral fear. She wasn't sure she liked what Marshall was implying. Not that she was attracted to Sydney. (She wasn't.) But Marshall wasn't supposed to know that Rachel was a lesbian. What if he'd found out? And what if he'd gone on to assume things about Sydney and Rachel's living situation?

"I carry in her groceries, pick up things she drops," Rachel said tersely. "That's all. No late-night food runs or painting toenails."

"Oh, right." Marshall nodded. His patent 'right, your idea makes much more sense than mine' nod. "I just thought… you know, before you lived with Syd, it was her sister Nadia…"

"Oh. Oh God, of course…"

Rachel's paranoia deflated, leaving in its place sorrow and guilt. Everyone knew Sydney wished Vaughn could be here for her during her pregnancy. It had never occurred to Rachel that she'd feel much the same way about Nadia. For eight months now, Sydney's half-sister had lain in a medically-induced coma, after being stricken with a mysterious, rabies-like disease in the line of duty.

"Sydney's doing great," Rachel reported, forcing herself to smile again. "She had another checkup yesterday. 37 weeks. The doctor told her it could be any day now. Jack tried to leverage that to get the doctor to put her on light duty."

Marshall raised his eyebrows. " _Mr. Bristow_ goes to the prenatal appointments?"

"Yeah." Rachel sat up straighter, smug in knowing something about the inscrutable Jack Bristow that one of his more seasoned colleagues didn't know. "He always has, like since before I came here. He built the baby's crib, too."

"Wow! That's great. I'm glad he's involved. Not just for Syd's sake but his own, too. I mean, I dunno if you've noticed, but he's definitely suffering some couvade. The way he compartmentalizes away the pregnancy at the office- if he did that 24/7, I'd be worried that he might… I dunno, lose it at some point."

"What's couvade?" Rachel frowned.

"Sympathetic pregnancy," Marshall explained. "Headaches, mood swings- for some men it's more irritability, but Mr. Bristow was so curt to start with, I think he's actually gone a little soft. Oh, and weight gain." Rachel smirked at that. Marshall rushed on to explain: "Not that he's, like, ballooned or anything." (This came complete with hand gestures.) "Just a little around the middle."

"I honestly didn't notice that."

"I don't think most people have. I'm just hyper-attentive to these things, for some weird reason. I must've been one of those guys at the county fair who guessed people's weights in a past life," Marshall bragged. "Problem is, when Carrie's trying on an outfit and she's like 'Does this make me look fat?' and I say 'No' even though it does. I think most husbands say 'no' because they don't know any better, but Carrie knows I do, and she can tell when I'm lying… Anyway, don't tell Mr. Bristow that I said he's gone soft, okay?..."

Rachel let Marshall ramble on. She knew he seldom got the chance at the office, and there was a comforting normalcy in it- the casualness, the imperfections. She smiled and "aww"ed at the Mitchell stories, offered 'female advice' at Marshall's recent disagreements with Carrie, politely debated his _Lost_ fan theories.

But she also kept sneaking glances out the window at Grace. The tall brunette balanced her cigarette delicately between her fingers as she looked out over the nearby university campus, with that dark-lidded, green-eyed, thousand-mile gaze…

Rachel wondered what Grace was thinking about. Her life before APO? Her plans for after? Rachel sensed that Grace wouldn't stay at APO for long, despite her superior performance as part of the team. There was an invisible barrier between her and the others.

How would Rachel find the opportunity- and the courage- to talk to her about Brazil? What was there to talk about, anyway?

Grace dropped her spent cigarette on the sidewalk, crushed it beneath the heel of her black leather boot, then picked it back up and tossed it into the nearest trash can. (Bless her.) She entered the busy restaurant and headed for the restrooms, seeming to part the crowds with her determined stride. She caught Rachel's eye and mimed washing her hands.

Rachel nodded and turned her attention back to the menu. They'd eaten together before. Rachel knew Grace was a hearty but balanced eater, a fan of both red meat and fresh veggies. She gravitated towards the savory, rather than spicy or sweet. One day they were mocking the recent "superfood" craze when Grace admitted that if she ever smacked that label on something, it might be spinach. She'd called herself a regular Popeye…

"Hey."

Grace sidled into the booth beside Rachel and smiled at her. She'd reapplied her perfume- mint and a hint of patchouli- and freshened her lipstick. It was a vivid red that Rachel would hardly dare to try at home, let alone over a bathroom sink in a restaurant. But not a smidge was out of place.

What was this nonsense Rachel was thinking earlier about the comfort of imperfections?

"What'd you order me?"

"We didn't order yet."

"Well what _would_ you have ordered me?" Grace asked, with a coy half-smile that made Rachel blush like a fool.

"Soutsoukaki on pita, with a side of spinach salad," Rachel announced.

"Mmm," Grace grunted, closing her eyes. "Perfect."

Marshall cleared his throat. "I, uh, think the panini's calling my name," he offered.


	4. Move

04\. Move

Rachel was a sophomore in high school when _Titanic_ came out. Dad called it "your generation's _Star Wars,_ " because she and her friends went back to see it at least a dozen times. The guys gawked at the special effects and speculated on how they would have fought their way to survival. The other girls sighed over Leo and cried at "I'll never let go." Meanwhile, Rachel quietly fell in love with Rose.

Sure, she was sheltered, spoiled. And the boys kept calling her a bitch for not sharing the floating door with Jack, no matter how passionately Rachel argued (and diagrammed) the "lack of buoyancy" argument. But there was a whole world beneath those red curls and the flawless porcelain skin. First the aloof socialite; then the desperate prisoner of her own life; then the sensuous and self-assured lover; then the ax-wielding woman on a mission, fearless even as sparks flew and her lips turned blue… Rose's strengths and fears, her passions and wits, they occupied Rachel's mind and infiltrated her dreams.

The night Sydney left for Spain, Rachel dreamed about _Titanic_ for the first time in years. She was in the Master-at-Arms office, cuffed to a pole and watching helplessly as the icy waters crept in. Before she could even scream for help, Rose was there. She wordlessly picked up the axe and, with one expert swing, severed the cuffs.

Then she spoke in Grace Thomas's voice. "Go get her," she ordered Rachel. "You can do it. I promise."

Grace-as-Rose took Rachel's face in her hands, kissed her, then waded back out to the corridor. Rachel followed. She stepped down into the water and found herself amidst a swirl of satin. She looked down at herself. She wore a pink and white empire-waisted gown. There were red curls lying on her shoulders. She was Rose too.

She tried to find Grace, but she had vanished in the flickering lights. A fresh rush of frigid seawater swept Rachel off her feet. She grasped at doorknobs just to pull her head above water. She reached a "T" in the corridor, where the water pushed her against the wall next to a utility pipe. She held onto the pipe until the wave passed, then staggered off, heart and head pounding, legs numb. She didn't like her odds of survival- especially not without Grace. But she made a slow and fuzzy decision to at least search for higher ground.

"Help! Please!"

Rachel spun about. Her legs stabbed with pain and her lungs burned as she ran towards the plea. It was Sydney's voice.

Sydney was a Rose too- but a very pregnant one. She crouched with her back against the wall, her hands white-knuckled around her low belly. Panting between labor pains, she whimpered, "Dad?"

"I don't know where he is," said Rachel. "But Sydney, we have to move."

The wall that Sydney leaned against was a flimsy panel to another corridor. Here the water was only halfway up their shins. But water from the other side of the panel was spraying through the cracks at shoulder height. The groan of the strained wood grew louder and louder.

Sydney didn't seem to hear Rachel. She stared past her, wild-eyed and searching. "Dad? I… I can't-"

" _Sydney!"_

The waters burst forth.

(scene)

Rachel's phone jolted her awake. (Or was it the dream?) It was Grace on the other end. "We have to go in," she said, skipping pleasantries. "Sydney's been abducted."

Rachel was dressed and in the car before she bothered checking the time. 4:15. Traffic was nonexistent, homes and storefronts dark. The world would be still and silent if it weren't for the Santa Ana winds kicking up. A part of Rachel's brain that wasn't quite awake said that as long as they had this dry wind, everything would be fine. As if water were the problem.

Rachel met Grace on the Metro. Usually she'd be trying to think of something witty to say. Now they both sat and waited for the end of the line in silence. They headed straight to the APO briefing room. Sloane was already there. Jack marched in, flanked by Dixon and Marshall.

"Prophet Five has Sydney. She was last seen in a black van heading west away from the Salamanca quarter. Dr. Aldo DeSantis was present at the ambush, which implies they may intend to use Sydney for a medical procedure."

Sloane said what was immediately on everyone's minds: "My God. The baby."

"Renee Rienne has DeSantis in custody. I'm going to join her and assist with the interrogation."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Dixon asked.

"No. I need you to run operations until I return."

Jack looked to Rachel. There were bags beneath his eyes from working through the night. But in his eyes she saw no fatigue, anger or fear- not yet. Only a focused urgency.

"Renee also procured DeSantis' laptop. She believes his files contain their plans for Sydney, but she can't access the details. She needs someone to break their network encryption."

Rachel understood. Of course she was the one for the job. Marshall couldn't fly to Europe at the drop of a hat without arousing his wife's suspicion. More importantly, Rachel used to work for Prophet Five. They would have changed all their systems after she left- but she was still familiar with their habits, their approach to operations.

"I'll secure a flight to Spain for us," she said.

This was not the kind of briefing where people hung around until all assignments were handed out. Rachel walked out as Jack tasked Marshall with accessing Madrid surveillance and tracking nearby transportation.

"Forty minutes ago?" Marshall was flustered. "But- They could've had her out of the city limits in twenty!"

"Then MOVE!" Jack snapped.

For once, Rachel didn't hold Jack's curtness towards Marshall against him.


End file.
